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...
The air within Dorotte's dimly lit experiment lab hung heavy with the faint tang of decayed reagents and the subtle hum of latent magic.
Leylin sat across from his skeletal mentor, the eerie glow of green embers flickering in Dorotte's eye sockets casting long shadows across the stark walls. The black chair beneath him, draped in a material disturbingly akin to human skin, creaked faintly as he shifted, his mind still reeling from the revelations about the bloodbath and the secret plane.
"Branded Swordsman? What's that?" Leylin asked, his brow furrowing slightly, a mix of curiosity and skepticism threading through his voice.
Dorotte's mandible twitched as though suppressing a grin, the bones of his jaw rattling faintly.
"Leylin," he began, his raspy tone carrying an almost reverent weight, "Magi are beings of mysterious power. In ancient times, those who wielded such might were called magicians—feared and revered across worlds. The Branded Swordsman is a relic of that era, a small but potent branch of the ancient Magi. Through alchemical runes, a spell formation is branded onto their flesh, granting them extraordinary strength. It's a fusion of body and magic, a path few now tread."
Leylin tilted his head, his bright brown eyes narrowing as he processed the words.
"I see," he said slowly, peering at a weathered scrap of parchment Dorotte had slid across the table—a fragment detailing the Branded Swordsman. (Image)
"You've noticed I'm a Grand Knight now. Are you suggesting this path suits me?"
Dorotte nodded, the motion sending a faint creak through his skeletal frame. "Indeed. Your physical prowess as a Grand Knight aligns well with it, your rune crafting talent is exceptional, your spell study is also remarkable, its a great path for you. At the very least, a great start in your future path as a magus, only with strength would you have any sway, my boy."
"Branded Swordsmen emphasize rigorous training of the body. Through disciplined practice and the branding of runes, they store nature's energy within themselves—power that erupts explosively in critical moments. It's a raw, visceral strength, unlike the purely arcane focus of most Magi."
Leylin's fingers traced the faded ink on the parchment, his mind racing.
"So it's the next stage for Knights—or perhaps their predecessor?" His voice held a spark of intrigue, though a flicker of disappointment lingered beneath it. He craved the boundless mysteries of magic, not the brute force of steel and sinew. Although Leylin always knew that he possessed exceptional Knight talent but it's simply not where his heart sways.
"Correct," Dorotte replied, his embers flaring briefly in approval. "You've grasped it quickly. In ancient times, the inheritance of the Branded Swordsman was widespread. Over centuries, it was adapted—diluted, really—for regular humans, giving rise to the Knights and Grand Knights we know today. The original path, though, was far grander."
Leylin leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "So a Branded Swordsman is an advanced Knight—a warrior infused with magic." His tone betrayed a hint of reluctance; his heart yearned for the arcane, not the martial.
Dorotte's skeletal hand tapped the table, the sound sharp in the stillness. "Precisely. But it's a pity—over sixty percent of the original knowledge is lost. The crucial details—branding techniques, spell formation designs—are all but gone. Forcing a formation onto the body without that wisdom disrupts a Magus's power, turning it into chaos. I uncovered a fragment of this path during my own adventures, enough to become an official Magus, but it was incomplete."
Leylin's gaze sharpened. "Incomplete?"
"Yes," Dorotte said, his voice lowering as though sharing a guarded secret. "As I explained previously, Across the South Coast, the Magisteriums and guilds—every major power—signed a pact at Luxe Castle long ago, restricting the knowledge of Magus advancement. All must swear secrecy under the Trial's Eye, whether they join an academy or a family. But there's an exception: ancient remnants—historical relics predating the agreement. Scattered across perilous wilds, they hold traces of lost wisdom. Even official Magi risk death to seek them out."
Leylin's pulse quickened, though he masked it with a calm nod. "I've chased some remnants before—spent fortunes, exhausted myself, and found nothing. A common tale, I suppose."
"Indeed," Dorotte agreed, his embers dimming slightly. "Most yield dust or trinkets, if anything. But when a Magus uncovers a true inheritance—knowledge, resources, power—it's the birth of a legend. I became a Magus that way, piecing together scraps from a ruin. With my teacher's leverage, I traded for the resources to breakthrough from the academy. Even now, I rank among the strongest in the academy, just below the three vice principals and Chairman Siley."
Leylin's lips quirked faintly. "And that incomplete knowledge—it's why you warn me against Grine Water?"
Dorotte's skeletal form seemed to still, the air growing heavier. "Yes. That fragment I found—though over sixty percent was missing—taught me truths too late. The standard path, with Grine Water and a rank 1 spell, is flawed. I won't let my prized apprentice stumble as I did. Through years of rune crafting and alchemy, I've patched some gaps, but recreating the Branded Swordsman's full power demands exceptional talent in both. Your skills in rune crafting outshine any acolyte here—perhaps even rival some Magi. With study, you could succeed where I faltered."
Leylin's mind churned, visions of ancient warriors flashing before him. "In their prime, Branded Swordsmen and Magi together must have been a terror across worlds." (image)
"A nightmare to their foes," Dorotte confirmed, his voice tinged with awe. "Their branded runes turned flesh into a conduit for magic and might—a harmony of disciplines lost to time."
"What is the other path? Teacher spoke of two." Leylin asked, shifting the conversation, his curiosity insatiable.
Dorotte's embers flared anew. "With our numbers dwindling—acolytes and Magi alike—many magus families are hunting for recruits. Some offer enticing contracts, far better than the academy's, with fewer restraints. Even my own family made an offer for you, Leylin. But I wouldn't let you join just any house. Only the three great families supporting the Abyssal Bone Forest Academy or our Chairman Siley's faction are worthy of your potential—only there can your future thrive."
Leylin tilted his head, intrigued. "Their offers depend on the bloodbath?"
"Yes," Dorotte said, leaning forward, his skeletal fingers tapping rhythmically. "Your performance in the secret plane will sway them. All those year back, I was too eager, too impatient to reach Magus status and I lost myself to enticement being trapped into mediocrity afterwards. Leylin, I want you to perform well in the blood bath and also succeed in Branded Swordsmen. Only then would your worth increase, the more powerful you are, more benefits you get. But as I always taught you, exercise caution."
"If you can achieve these two things, I've a century-old favor I could call in—secure you better terms, richer resources. But I won't expend it lightly, even for you, my valued student. If it bears fruit—if you rise to Magus—you'll owe me aid in return."
Leylin's response was swift, unwavering. "I agree, Teacher. Without hesitation."
Dorotte's jaw clacked in approval. "Good. Before you go, register at the Administrative Area. As a potential Magus, you'll gain access to restricted privileges—chief among them, the hidden library section."
Leylin's pulse quickened again. "The hidden library?"
"Aye," Dorotte said, his tone conspiratorial. "The books there are censored, Magus secrets stripped out, leaving only cryptic hints, easily overlooked. But with your mind, you might unearth clues perhaps even why I push you toward the great families."
Leylin rose, bowing deeply, schemes swelling within him. "I'm truly grateful, Teacher."
"You have grown to be quite charming, I recently heard an acolyte fooled a girl to get a precious potion. I reckon you would have a bright future as a womanizer, surprisingly even in magus world there is some brain dead people." Dorotte commented.
"I could never hope to match Teacher's charm. In our world, true beauty lies in strength—and by that measure, you stand as an unshakable mountain, while I am but a grain of sand at your feet."
"Hehehe eloquent as always." Dorotte waved his hands, telling him to leave.
Leylin walked to the exit but lingered near the door, the weathered parchment detailing the Branded Swordsman still tucked under his arm.
His hand rested on the iron handle, but he paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his otherwise composed features.
He turned back, his bright brown eyes meeting Dorotte's glowing sockets.
"Teacher," Leylin began, his voice steady but laced with a quiet intensity, "before I go… the academy must have slain plenty of enemy Magi during the war, yes?"
Dorotte tilted his skull slightly, the motion accompanied by a faint creak of bone. The embers in his eyes pulsed once, a silent acknowledgment, though confusion flickered beneath his skeletal calm.
"Aye," he rasped, his voice dry as the wind over a grave. "Many fell by our hands, ours and the Chairman's. What's your intent, boy?"
Leylin stepped closer, the soles of his boots scuffing softly against the stone floor. "I'd like to purchase some blood—Magus blood, or that of a Magus-level creature. From you, if possible."
His tone was deliberate, each word measured, betraying none of the ambition simmering beneath.
The green embers dimmed, retreating into the depths of Dorotte's sockets as though retreating into thought.
For a moment, the lab was silent save for the faint hiss of Abigail's tongue tasting the air. Dorotte's bony fingers twitched, brushing against the edge of the table.
"Why?" he asked at last, his voice low, probing. "What drives you to seek such a thing?"
Leylin's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile, though his eyes remained sharp, glinting with purpose. "I want to study curse magic," he said simply.
"Blood curses, to be precise. I need high-quality material, something potent, something worthy of the craft. What better source than a fallen Magus or a creature of their caliber?"
Dorotte's skeletal frame seemed to stiffen, the air growing heavier with his contemplation. When he spoke, his tone carried a warning, sharp and deliberate.
"Curse magic, eh? Blood curses especially, they're a thorny path, Leylin. Annoying, unpredictable things. Magi don't often bother with the blood of their fallen foes it's a liability as much as a resource. It marks you, ties you to the kill. Proof of the deed, should anyone care to trace it. Most only harvest it if the blood's exceptional tied to a rare bloodline, perhaps or if they mean to wield a curse themselves."
"You're stepping into murky waters, boy. Magi are much more dangerous than you assume, such dangerous things would leave you cripple at best if anything goes awry."
Leylin's expression didn't waver, his gaze steady as he absorbed the caution. "I understand the risks, Teacher. But I've already begun experimenting with blood my rituals have borne fruit. This is the next step. I need something stronger to refine my work."
Dorotte's embers flared briefly, a spark of curiosity breaking through his wariness. He studied Leylin for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between them.
At last, he sighed a hollow, rattling sound and shook his skull. "I've no Magus blood on hand, not now. What I do have is the blood of a Magus-level creature—a Shadow Wyrm, slain in the war's early days. Potent stuff, versatile. Magical beasts are in high demand for a reason: their essence serves alchemy, runes, curses countless purposes. It's not cheap, mind you."
Leylin's hand dipped into his robe, retrieving a leather pouch that clinked heavily with magic crystals.
"Name your price," he said without hesitation, setting the pouch on the table with a dull thud. "I'll pay what it takes."
Dorotte's jaw clacked in what might have been a laugh, though his tone remained dry. "Bold as ever. For you, my prized student, I'll part with it but it'll cost a fortune. Five hundred magic crystals per vial, no less. Shadow Wyrm blood isn't some common reagent."
Leylin's brow twitched faintly at the sum a steep price, one that would drain much of his reserves but he didn't flinch. He loosened the pouch's drawstring, letting the faint shimmer of crystals spill onto the table, their facets catching the lantern light.
"I want five vial." he said, sliding the payment forward. "I trust it's worth it."
Dorotte's skeletal hand swept the crystals into a drawer with practiced ease, the motion swift and final. From beneath the table, he produced five sealed vial, its glass dark and opaque, etched with containment runes. Within, a viscous liquid swirled, black as pitch yet flecked with silvery veins—a mesmerizing, almost living thing. (Image)
"It is," he said, handing it over. "But heed my warning, Leylin. Curses cling like shadows cast them carelessly, and they'll haunt you as much as your enemies."
Leylin took the vials, his fingers brushing the cool glass as he studied its contents with a hungry gleam in his eyes.
"I'll be careful, Teacher," he replied, though his tone held a trace of defiance, a promise of daring rather than caution. He tucked the vial into his robe, and offered a final bow. "Thank you."
Dorotte's embers followed him as he turned to leave, the lab's shadows stretching long and jagged across the walls.
The door thudded shut behind him, muffling Dorotte's presence, and Leylin allowed himself a quiet, triumphant smirk.
Stepping from the lab, he clutched the parchment on Branded Swordsmen to his chest, its brittle edges pressing against his robe. The air outside was cool, tinged with the scent of damp earth and distant smoke.
"Three paths lie before me," he murmured, his voice firm with resolve. "The bloodbath's points for Grine Water and a spell, the Branded Swordsman's lost art, or a family's backing. Whatever comes, I'll break through. I will become an official Magus."
A quiet confidence settled over him, easing the tension in his shoulders. He'd always favored contingencies backup plans layered like armor.
Even if the Branded path faltered or the families wavered, the secret realm's rewards remained a fallback. He'd secure a rank 1 spell and Grine Water there if need be, ensuring his ascent. The weight of ambition felt lighter now, buoyed by the clarity of his options.